


Buying your way to Heaven

by qwertysweetea



Series: The (surprisingly domestic) lives of Moriarty and Moran [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Catholicism, Christian Holidays, Domestic Disputes, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, If You Squint - Freeform, Lent, M/M, One of My Favorites, Pancakes, Religious Discussion, This Is STUPID, but I love it so much, pancake day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: Sebastian had always let holidays like pancake day pass him by. It just so happens that Jim is a small bundle of sweet-loving, holiday celebrating psychopath who had both the look, capability and unpredictability of a man who will kill over whisked flour, egg and milk. So here they are, sat around the dinner table.“It’s Shrove Tuesday today Sebastian, which means Lent starts tomorrow. Given much thought as to what you’re giving up?”“Seriously? Lent?” Sebastian chucked around a mouthful of pancake.A fluffy, domestic tiff within which Jim attempts to coerce Sebastian into taking part in an important religious tradition, and Sebastian tactfully reminds him that they are, in fact, both horrendous people who are long past redemption. Spoiler: Jim wins.





	Buying your way to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this out pancake day and didn't post it for some reason... so here it is now, totally out of season.

Sebastian had always let holidays like pancake day pass him by. It was bad enough having to adhere to the impossible-to-ignore public holidays he didn’t find himself having time for without paying any mind to the smaller ones too.

He was a grown man. If he wanted pancakes he would make himself pancakes. The last thing he was going to do was let a day determine what he was going to eat.

It just so happens that this particular pancake day he actually felt like pancakes. It had nothing what so ever to do with the fact that Jim was a small bundle of sweet-loving, holiday celebrating psychopath who had both the look, capability and unpredictability of a man who will kill over whisked flour, egg and milk.

So he let him get on with making them, only once passing by the kitchen to sit at the already set table: tablecloth, napkins, the fancy plates and forks he’d only seen that one Christmas day they’d spent in England. Jim was pulling out all the stops. He sure did like his holidays.

He hadn’t been there long when the other made his way over with the plate stacked high. You wouldn’t have guessed he had been cooking; Jim never looked like he put any effort into anything exerting, even with jacket and tie disguarded and shirt, untucked and sleeves pushed up to the elbow he looked cool and composed.

For the first of several moments they both sat in a comfortable silence: Jim eating contently and Sebastian was… well eating. They were pancakes and they were good. He lamented being silently warned to tuck the napkin into the front of his shirt as opposed to laying it across his lap as he usually would.

When Jim cleared his throat to start a conversation he wasn’t completely sure if he was grateful or not. Barely a year into sharing a residence with his boss and he still hadn’t decided whether the gentle press on his chest, whenever the other made a sign of speaking, was dread or eagerness.

“What are you going to give up for Lent, Sebastian?”

“Seriously? Lent?” Sebastian chucked around a mouthful of pancake.

“Yes. It’s Shrove Tuesday which means Lent starts tomorrow. Given much thought as to what you’re giving up?”

After a second of thought but mostly disbelief, he replied “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” For a moment, Jim almost looked offended; his fork hovered between his plate and his mouth as if frozen with his own disbelief before he took in a breath and movement resumed. After the bite finally made it to his mouth he gave a forcefully humoured smile and added, “Why now?”

Sebastian started at the other, unknowing how to reply.

It was no secret that neither were religious men. That both of them were believers in God was a separate and scarcely talked about issue which had no foundation or structure in the tradition and practices of organised religion. It was hard to justify being a religious man when your primary job was the bloody, more death-centric work of a career criminal... or so he had thought.

Slowly, buying himself more time than he was afforded by the other, he chewed and swallowed his mouthful. “Because it’s a Catholic practice” was all he could offer as an answer.

“So?” Jim looked completely unfazed.

“So I’m not a Catholic.” He replied, as though it was the most established fact between them.

“But it’s Lent!” He insisted, as though he was discovering something unfathomable about his employee. “It’s a tradition.”

“If you’re Catholic, which neither of us are.” Sebastian insisted back.

“You’ve got to keep on top of the traditions Sebastian.”

“Or what? We’ll go to Hell?”

Jim looked back sternly, far too serious for the situation and replied “Yes.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you Jim, but God really looks down on the abuse, exploitation and murder of innocent people.”

“I’m not saying I’ve been perfect…”

“Understatement of the century.” He mumbled into his drink, taking back most of the glass.

“…Just that there are other ways to practice faith.”

“And all I’m saying is that if God’s willing to let you in for giving up some stupid trivial shit for 40 days after all the shit you’ve done then something’s gone wrong.”

“I’m as likely to go to Heaven as the next man.”

At that Sebastian scoffed, and pulled another pancake onto his plate. “Given that there is only the two of us in the room, I think it’s safe to say that statement is uncharacteristically accurate.”

“So it seems.”

“By that I mean not at all, Jim. At this point in our lives there is nothing on God’s green Earth either of us could do to change the fact we are going to Hell. You’re having a laugh if you think I’m giving up something to try.”

“You’re missing the point. It’s not about buying our way into Heaven, Moran. It’s about being a part of centuries-old practice…” He paused, talking a mouthful of his own pancake and gazing somewhere away from the other like he was willing to let the subject drop. For a moment, foolishly, Sebastian thought he had before the other added “…celebrating the life and teachings of our Lord and Saviour Jesus…”

“Christ Jim!” Sebastian hissed slightly more harsh than he had felt building up. He dropped his fork, and other hand raised to his forehead like he was trying to rub away a developing headache. “Since when have you ever given a damn about Jesus’ teachings?”

“What gave you the impression I didn’t?” The other asked, genuine curiosity lighting up his eyes slightly.

“You blew up an old lady so you could carry on flirting with your sociopathic, British boyfriend.”

“You’re missing the point again.”

“If the point is you and I partaking in a religious tradition neither of us have any reason or right to be a part of then I think I’ve got it pretty much down.”

The others mouth twitched, a small smile curling the corner before vanishing in the same moment. If anything, he looked far darker than before. “The point is that you and I are participating in Lent this year, and you’d better pick something to give up in the next 30 seconds because you’re making this a very unpleasant experience and it isn’t appreciated, Moran!”

“Okay, fine. I’ll give up murder. Happy?”

Jim glared back, hand tightening on his knife. “Just pretend for one moment you take this seriously.”

“It’s hardly a practice of divine clemency after decades of merciless crime.” Sebastian hissed back.

He leant forward slightly, pushing his empty plate away and landing his palms flat on the table. The other emulated it, making the small movement so much more threatening. It was becoming a replica of Christmas and a small part of him wondered if it wasn’t the fancy china plates playing their part. It would be just like Jim to pick up cursed crockery to prove a point.

“I know what you want me to say,” Sebastian said plainly, stating with hands remaining flat and strained on the cloth “and it’s not happening.”

“What am I going to say?” The other replied, standing up himself.

“Smoking.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“What were you going to say then?”

“Gambling.”

“Fine. Okay, sure.” Sebastian huffed, pushing himself a step or two backwards then, round from in front of the chair. He stepped a little closer to Jim who was still stood behind the table, only angled enough towards him to keep the air of threat around him “I can do that. What are you giving up? Murder, theft, fraud, being a smart-ass, sass, calling yourself daddy, generally being obnoxious?”

“No… chocolate, obviously Sebastian. Why do you think I’m putting lemon and sugar on my pancakes instead of Nutella?” At that, he gestured at the selection of pancake toppings on the table. Sebastian noticed that anything chocolate based was strangly absent.


End file.
